Cleave
by The Quiet Place
Summary: My name is Takatsuki Shiori. This is my day.
1. Aller

**I. Aller**

I hate them. Butterflies, I mean.

Strange, isn't it? See, butterflies are nice. Like summer. You hear them in songs. They're meant to remind you of love, all that stuff. At the least, they're pretty. Aren't they? Shiny little wings, colourful patterns. Pink, printed on little girls' stationary. In your stomach. In songs. Butterflies.

They have small, black eyes.

It's mostly the eyes.

"_I don't think I can forgive you"._

_The lake. _

"_I know."_

_Stood, back to the lake._

_Go back. Go deeper._

"_I don't know why, but just I thought….if I let you go now, I'd regret it." _

_Stood in front of her, back to the lake. _

"_But…you _know_ me. You know what I'm like."_

_Deeper, go deeper._

"_I'm selfish. I'm selfish and I'm….petty."_

_Stood in front of her, staring into her eyes, back to the lake._

"_I'll probably hurt you again."_

"_I know."_

_Go back. Go deeper._

_Confess it._

"…_I wanted to say thank you. For what you gave me. You…it made me happy."_

_Staring into her eyes._

_Confessing it. _

"_I wanted us to stay like this."_

"_I know."_

"_I'm sorry." _

_Confessing it to Juri. _

"_I wanted…."_

_It is a sunny day in Ohtori. On this day, hearts will break. _

"_I wanted…."_

_There is a faint humming in the air. Juri's eyes flick to the side. Flick away. _

_Gently, slowly, the butterfly floats past, its wings white and blank, blank, blank. _

And I awake with my fist clutching empty air.

It's too early. The room is dim. I curse that damn dream (again, always, _always_) because now if I try to go back to sleep I'll see them again, the little…but nevermind. Sulking never was my best trait. Neither was brooding. I tell myself this sort of things a lot, nowadays.

So instead I roll over and feel the surface of my beside table, eventually finding what I'm looking for. They are hard to read in the half-light, but I do. I run my thumbs over the paper surface, making sure not to crease them. Memorise the times, the place exactly. They haven't changed.

Is it comforting? In a way, but then there is also the gnawing ache in my stomach. What if—no. What ifs are bad. They make things complicated. Something else I tell myself all the time. Don't sulk. Don't brood. Don't doubt. Don't be petty.

Don't be _jealous_.

Everytime I hear that word, it reminds me of something I can't remember.

Carefully, I lay the tickets back down in their place, hug my knees. It is tempting to give it up, to back to bed. Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe. It would certainly be _easier_. And I am afraid.

What if….

I get up.

Today, the tickets say I am going to get a bus, then a train. They are advance tickets; I have been planning this journey for some time. They were also fairly expensive, but that doesn't matter. As long as I get there. It's good, in a way: if I turn back, it'll be money wasted at the very least. A spur to keep me going.

Outside the window, the world spreads below me. I finger the chipped paint on the frames and for a moment feel the bitterness rise up in me again. No. Push it back down. The flat isn't so bad. Being alone is quite comforting, sometimes. Home might be nicer, but I'd willingly trudge to the Café every other evening to collect my paycheck so I can live here, just to get away from _her_. That the college was nearby was just a good excuse.

Plus, this block doesn't have an elevator.

I don't like elevators.

It's nearing the time. Here we go: another of those moments to get through. Get up or stay down. Stay or go. For better or for worse.

I get up.

My name is Takatsuki Shiori.

This is my day.

(_Author's note: I don't own Utena. Thankfully._

_Reviews very much appreciated, as always. Flames accepted with a smile and possibly a weak joke in response.) _


	2. Intermission, un

**Intermission, un**

I did it because I was jealous.

I was jealous because I wasn't good enough.

I wasn't good enough, and I was in pain.

I was in pain and I couldn't bear to be near you.

I couldn't bear to be near you because I kept screwing it up.

I screwed him because I thought it made us equal.

We were equal because we used each other.

We used each other to hurt you.

He tried to hurt you to save you.

He tried to save you because he thought I made you weak.

I made you weak because you loved me.

You loved me because….

Because….

I did it because I was jealous.

I was jealous because I wasn't good enough.

I wasn't good enough, and…


	3. New Order

**II. New Order**

Sometimes I wonder of how much of it actually happened.

This is another one of these new habits I have, spacing out in public. I'm kind of divided on this one. Sure, it's not exactly bad, but…what happened to the old me? The old me that wore a uniform with a short skirt and would never sit by herself next to a bus window and _enjoy_ it.

Oh yeah. It got eaten by _him_. Next question.

Well, Shiori Takatsuki, Takatsuki Shiori, why are you sat on this bus window by yourself, spacing out in public, wondering how much of _it_ (and it really is difficult to remember sometimes) actually happened?

A good question. And if I was smart enough to know the answer, I probably wouldn't be here. I am like this: questions that go in circles. Again, new habit. Never used to think that much. That's probably what made hurting people so easy: you never imagine how deep exactly the damage might go.

Or maybe I'm just lying to myself again.

'_Oh no, Juri, I had no idea what was inside that locket.'_

I did, though.

There is a clanging sound nearby that is probably something inside the bus. Nobody else looks up. The young man across from me, the kids behind me, the woman with her dark face sat near the front with her hands in her lap; none of them realise that I have gone cold and my hand is gripping the seat, waiting for it to stop.

It is something inside the bus that sounds very much like an old elevator rattling down, down down.

(When I wake with my empty hand clutching the air, I sometimes wonder if I'm going mad.)

* * *

Some of it is impossible.

The sound has stopped. It happened twice; the second time, the young man gave me the barest of glances. He's sat alone too. I have no idea why he's smirking. There is something about him that I dislike, instinctively, although I don't know why.

It is small things like the sounds and the dreams that make me wonder if it ever really happened, or if the whole thing just came from some diseased part of my mind, a self-important dream about princes and brides and swords and sorcery and roses and those bloody, _bloody_ _butterflies_.

But a mad person doesn't know they're mad. Does that make me sane?

Whatever. I'll have the answers soon enough. Not that that's the only reason I'm going, even if I'd like to pretend otherwise.

Something prickles at the back of my neck and I look up in time to see the young man's eyes move away again. What is he looking at? Not me, surely; I'll admit, I'm nothing special (it's easier to hurt other people when you're nothing special, because it's easier to be jealous. _Shut up_, I tell myself). So…why?

He's a lean guy in smart casual, and he looks like he's going somewhere. Exactly the sort of guy I fall for, radiating power, control.

Would have fallen for.

Now it just makes me sick that it looks like _him_.

_(I wonder if he looks the same with his clothes off—_

_**Shut**__**UP**__.)_

There are two people that stand out clearly in the whole mess. One is _her_ (the locket-owner, the panther, _her_). And the other is him. I am sure he has a name. And I really should know his name, really should, because I lost my virginity to him, and in the back of a car, nonetheless.

I can already hear my mother's voice calling me a slut, and once again congratulate myself for getting out of there. A slut, a sinner, _do what you like then, you always do_, _just want what's best for you, you've put on weight, haven't you? Why don't you go to church anymore?_ I threw out my crucifix around the same time.

_Clang_. I groan despite myself. Not again. I check my watch, and reassure myself that the bus journey should be over soon. If the same thing happens on the train I might cry.

That prickle on my neck starts again, and in the split second that I catch that blue gaze on me….I know his name.

_Ruka Tsuchiya. Tsuchiya Ruka. _Another smaller voice speaks past the rising wall of panic in my mind, saying no, that's impossible. It's impossible because he's dead.

_Is he? _

No one looks up as I stand, not even him (no, it isn't, it can't be. Did it really happen then?). I press the bell, not even caring where I am, and the bus slides to a halt. The doors rattle as I leave. In my imagination they do it almost mockingly.

* * *

A few minutes later, I am almost hit by a red car.

I blink after it as it zooms away, a sarcastic rebuke dying on my lips, and suddenly I am cold again. There is a throb under my left eye.

"Are you alright?"

The woman with the dark face is stood behind me.

"No…I mean, y-yes, sorry. It was just a bit of a shock. Thank you."

She nods, and then it strikes me.

"Excuse me, but weren't you…on the bus?"

"I was."

"But I didn't see you get off…."

Then she smiles, a slow smile with thin lips, and somehow the question slips out of my mind.

"Take care."

My shoulder tingles where she pats it, once, before walking away. I gawp after her, and see something else surprising. Just ahead of her is the train station. The train station that it should have taken at least an extra fifteen minutes of bus journey to reach.

Something small and white floats past me.

(I wish _she_ was here.)


	4. Intermission, deux

**Intermission, deux**

"_Juri! Juri!" _

_It's too late. She's going. Gone. _

_No, no, no. Not yet. Not like this. I need words, some plan or plot or clever ploy to get her to come back to me, even just a final jibe, one final dagger in the back, something to wound her, anything to keep me in her thoughts, burning in her heart. I am the master manipulator, queen bitch. I am the girl in the locket. I am Shiori. _

_She walks stiff and upright like a soldier. Like always. She won't look back. She will continue walking in that perfectly straight line away from me until she is out of sight, and further than that. She won't speak. She won't cry. She will be brave, and stubborn, and in pain. _

_She will remain, to the last, _good_**.**_

_I open my mouth._

_And choke. _

"Juri_!"_

_No, I won't do it. I won't ruin her. I can control this. I don't have to be this person. I can walk away. No more games. Time to give it up. Time to grow up. _

"_I…I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Juri!"_

No. Stop_. It won't make any difference. Nothing will change this way. We're just going to go round and round again. Oh, it'll start off okay. She'll be good. Even I can be good, for a while. But I just can't match up to her. The more she opens up, the closer she lets me get, the more I can see her true self. And then it'll start. The jealousy. The pettiness. The little bursts of spite, building up, until I hate her. _

_I'll hate her. And I'll hurt her. The same spirals. Again, and again, and again…_

_But—_

"Please!"

_She hesitates._

_My heart leaps and clenches at the same time. I shouldn't want this. But I do. I want more than anything for her to turn round right now. After all, there's a chance—a small, small chance that it could be different this time. Can't it? _

_I've changed, haven't I? _

_She keeps going._

* * *

…_I guess…_

…_..not. _


End file.
